We Sinners
by Min Daae
Summary: There's always going to be bad days, sure; but there's always going to be evenings like this, too. Clint/Natasha.


_Author's Note: This was going to be for Porn Battle. That tells you how long this has been floating around. I really like a lot of things about the Clint/Natasha pairing, and one of them is that for all the two of them are fucked up and probably have a very messy relationship, there's a sense of familiarity and comfort that I think is almost more valuable than anything else, for them. I wanted to do something with that, and with sex that (for once) wasn't about power or pain._

_This moved into my head, and ultimately my favorite thing about it is probably the back and forth between Clint and Natasha, but I'm fond of the sex too._

* * *

He was waiting for her when she got back.

She dropped her coat on the bench by the door and gave him a look. Clint held up both hands defensively. "There's pasta on the stove," he said, "still hot. I got you some bubble bath. And you _did _tell me where the key was."

She gave up on the stare and crossed the room with a sigh, flopping down next to him. "Don't make me regret it."

"I'll try not to." Clint didn't reach out to her, waited until she leaned into him and rested her head on his shoulder, and then dropped an arm across her shoulders. It was the little things. The little ways in which he knew her. She closed her eyes, trying to fend off a headache.

"It wasn't supposed to be bad," she said, after a moment. "I guess that's how it goes, though, when you think something's going to be simple…"

"What was it?" Clint asked, voice quiet. _I don't want to talk about it,_ she wanted to say, but at the same time…she shifted slightly against him.

"Sex trade," she said, finally. "That's what he was using the money for. International sex trade. There were girls…_kids, _Clint. Some probably under fourteen. Only knew a few words of English like _please _and _yes _and-"

"God," Clint said, sounding sick. His arm tightened around her shoulders, and she felt him make the effort to loosen it. "I'm…_Christ, _Tasha."

She shook her head. "—day in the life, right? I chose this." _Or they did, for me. And now I don't know what else I could do if I tried. _She could pretend she'd done a good thing, and maybe she had. But how many of those girls would end up back on the streets, or sent back to a life no better than the one they'd been shoved into, or…

"Food first," Clint asked, "Or bath?" He wouldn't pry more than that.

"Bath," she said, after a moment, and breathed out through her nose. "I feel filthy."

"Yeah, I can't blame you." She leaned into him, just a little bit, silent permission for him to curve his fingers around her upper arm and squeeze before he let go and stood up. "Right. Clothes off. I'll start the hot water."

"Yes, sir," she said dryly. He grinned over his shoulder.

"Ooh, say that again. You'll make me all tingly." She stuck out her tongue at him, and he laughed and retreated into the bathroom.

Natasha stayed sprawled on the couch for a few minutes more before hauling herself to her feet and starting to peel herself out of her suit, listening to the sound of the water running and Clint humming tunelessly in the next room, trying to let herself unwind and get her head out of that warehouse.

(Some days she missed assassination work, wanted to just put a bullet through a mark's skull rather than moving through the steps that would put him in SHIELD hands.)

Clint emerged from the bathroom just enough to lean against the wall by the door. His blatant head-to-toe ogle as she pulled off the suit and dropped it on the floor was so egregious that she couldn't help a snort, but then her mind flicked to the girls she'd seen today, curled up into themselves with wide eyes, bruises on their arms and hips-

(Her own memories, a thousand times her body had been a weapon or a tool that barely even belonged to her.)

"Clint," she said, her voice tight. He turned away at once, averting his eyes.

"Right, sorry, I didn't think…"

"It's fine." It was. "Just…give me a minute." She took a few seconds, closed her eyes and just breathed, inhaling the familiar smell of her apartment, centering herself in her own skin. She opened her eyes just as Clint fidgeted.

"Tasha…"

"I'm okay." She left the suit on the floor and padded over to him. Clint turned his head back toward her slowly, eyes studiously fixed on her face.

"Would you rather I…I can come back." She could feel the humming chord of uncertain tension between them, Clint aware of her vulnerability and aware, too, of how little she liked being vulnerable. Natasha summoned a sharp smile.

"Then who'd wash my back? Clothes off, Barton. Chop chop."

His grin back was no less manufactured, but that was fine. That was how they lived. "Sure thing, boss," he said smartly, and then added, "you go ahead, I'll be right there."

"You'd better be," Natasha murmured before slipping into the bathroom, tile cool under her bare feet, and crossing to dip her toes into the filling tub. Almost scalding, just how she liked it. She clambered in and sank down into the water with a sigh of pure relief, the heat seeming to burn away some of the psychological filth with mission sweat. She leaned her head back and stretched her legs out as far as possible, letting the water keep running; closed her eyes and drifted.

She tuned in again when the sound quality changed as Clint shut the water off, though she didn't open her eyes. "Much more and we're going to get water all over the floor," Clint said. "Here, sit up a little."

"Maybe I changed my mind," she mumbled. "Taking this bath all to myself."

"I brought bribes."

She sat up, heaving an exaggerated sigh. "They'd better be good ones."

Clint slipped into the bath behind her, legs on either side of her. Some water slopped over the edge as they shifted to get comfortable. "You're lucky your bathtub is big enough to do this," he said. Natasha scoffed.

"Luck has nothing to do with it. I splurged on a bigger tub."

She almost felt Clint perk up. "Cause of me?"

"No, dumbass. Cause I like baths." She leaned back into his chest. "You said you had bribes."

"You're a cruel woman, Natasha Romanov." He pushed lightly at her shoulders. "Scoot forward a little." She did, leaving her eyes closed, and heard the click of a cap. The air was suddenly saturated with a sharp smell, almost pungent. She wrinkled her nose.

"What is that, horse liniment?"

"Nope. Hold on a minute." She listened to the slick sound of his hands rubbing together, and then he was smoothing his hands over her shoulders. For a moment, she just felt something cool and wet, but then-

"_Ohhh._"

"Ha. See? I told you so." His hands started massaging her shoulders, deft and sure. Natasha did not have the heart to be embarrassed about the sounds being squeezed out of her throat, not when whatever Clint had put on her skin warmed on contact, seeming to sink right through down into the muscle as his hands worked out the knots in her shoulders. "Who's the best," Clint said, smugly.

"Yes, all right, you." She relaxed into the massage, letting her mind drift. Leaving the mission behind. His hands slid up her neck and he dragged blunt fingernails over her scalp. "Mmm. Spoil me."

"That's the idea. Pass me a washcloth?"

"Uh huh." Natasha sat up and reached over to snag a washcloth and dunked it under the water, reached for the soap. Clint caught her wrist and she tensed reflexively.

"Hey, I'm spoiling you, remember? So let me do it." Natasha made herself relaxed and released the washcloth. Clint hummed, a little off-key, as he worked the soap into it before starting to wash her, scrubbing the washcloth gently over her shoulders, down her arms, her stomach and breasts. The tension left her slowly, but it did leave, his touch gentle but not sexual, not pushing.

"How'd you know," she said, after a few minutes of companionable silence.

"My Tasha senses were tingling."

"Clint…"

"Just a guess. Wishful thinking, maybe." He rinsed the washcloth in the tub, squeezed out the water, and dropped it on the side of the tub. "Want to rinse?"

She folded herself up to slide underwater and rinse off, though she kept her face out, looked up so she was looking at Clint upside down. "It was a good call."

"All my calls are good calls. See?" Natasha rolled back up to sitting, settled back between his thighs with the curve of her spine pressed into his stomach. His hands stroked up and down her sides, settled on her waist. It felt good, both his touch and just having him at her back. Natasha didn't know that she was capable of trusting anyone unconditionally, but Clint was closer than anyone.

"Don't get cocky."

"Nah. You'll make sure I don't." He slid his hands over her hips, fingers resting in the groove of her thighs. They felt good, there. Right. Her thighs were relaxed apart, and his fingers edged just a little inward. "May I?" Clint asked, quietly, his breath soft on the shell of her ear.

Natasha's body felt loose and slack. Some of the day had soaked away, and the soft pressure of Clint's fingers made her skin tingle, waking up. "Mmm. Take it slow."

"Yeah." His fingers slid slowly inward, deft fingers parting her. Warm water washed against tender flesh and she exhaled softly. His callused fingertips rubbed against her and she let herself relax back into him, felt his hardening cock brush against her spine. She shifted deliberately to make him hiss, his legs on either side of her tensing. "Hey," he said, not-quite protest.

"Mmm. There's such a thing as a little too slow, you know."

"You were the one that told me to take it easy." His fingers slid down, though, just the very tip of his middle finger slipping into her, forefinger seeking her clitoris. Natasha arched just a little up into his hand so his finger slid a little deeper, his other fingers teasing along sensitive skin. She let her head drop back and he kissed her neck lightly. "You gonna fall asleep on me?"

"Mmm. I might." His seeking forefinger just brushed her clit and she gasped, her eyes opening and her body snapping taut. "Ah – or perhaps not yet."

"Glad to hear it." This time the tease against her most sensitive flesh was more deliberate. His middle finger fucked into her a little deeper as his thumb groped down and he rolled her clit lightly between thumb and forefinger. Natasha shut her eyes again and groaned; she could hear the sound of his quickened breathing in her ear, feel the hard heat of his erection against her back. She pressed her hips back and was rewarded with an exhaled _unh. _"—relax," he said, only a little strained. "I'm taking care of you, remember?"

"I'm not allowed to return the favor?"

"Nuh-uh. Not right now." His finger pressed down, rubbed insistently at that hard nub of flesh. Natasha gasped, limbs going slack for a moment as an electric jolt of pleasure surged up from her loins. "—sides, knowing I can put that look on the Black Widow's face is pretty damn good on its – _hnnh._"

She dug her nails into his thigh a little harder, the heel of her hand pressing into muscle hard enough to hurt. "I'm not a prize," she said, though not quite fierce enough to be convincing.

"You gonna punish me for that one later?" Clint said, the tease in his tone not quite enough to disguise the eagerness underneath. He rubbed at her again, another finger sliding into her alongside the first, and she bucked into his hand, pleasure edging over into need, a tight feeling low in her belly.

"Yeah," she said, a little breathlessly, "you can sleep on the couch," and Clint laughed lowly before he got going in earnest.

His other hand slid up to her breasts, thumb running over her nipple as his fingers fucked in and out of her cunt. Natasha rode his hand, matching the pace he set, hips arching and not bothering to hold back the sounds his hands pulled from her. _This is life too, _she thought, as pleasure mounted and the motion of her body became more frantic – "faster," she panted, and Clint pressed his hot mouth to her shoulder and obeyed – _this is life, this, not just the ugly things, this-_

His fingers curled inside her and his thumb found her clit and rubbed in a small circle, and she was gone. Natasha came with a shudder, biting her lip almost hard enough to bleed.

Clint slid his fingers out of her slowly, and she shivered again at the sensation, all her flesh still tingling even as she slid down into pleasant afterglow. Clint's breathing was loud and uneven, but he said nothing. Wouldn't, if she didn't, he'd leave it alone and curl up to sleep with her without a word, cause he was a good guy.

The girls weren't gone. They never would be. None of her missions were ever really _gone, _none of the sticky residue from the years she'd lived ever really washed away_. _But they could fade, a little. And she could remind herself that there was sweetness too. And she got to have some of it, now.

That was worth a lot.

Natasha pressed her hips back again, ground against Clint. The sound he made was almost a whimper. She couldn't help but grin.

"All right," Natasha said. "Now that you've got me warmed up…let's see what else you can do."


End file.
